


Q, Unchangeable

by PeachGO3



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Touching, Happy Ending, Kissing, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22386766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachGO3/pseuds/PeachGO3
Summary: After accompanying the away team down to a planet and partaking in a ritual, it appears Q and the Captain are now married. Q urges Picard to consummate – but of course things get complicated.
Relationships: Jean-Luc Picard/Q
Comments: 15
Kudos: 124





	Q, Unchangeable

The look in his eyes should’ve told Jean-Luc about the gravitas of the situation. It had not.

And now here they were, in Jean-Luc’s ready room aboard the ship, with the Captain himself standing in front of Q with his face hidden behind his hands. Riker and the android were there too, but Q blocked them out entirely. His whole focus was on Picard – _his husband_ , he added jovially.

“You still don’t like this,” he noticed.

Jean-Luc lifted his head to exhale deeply, and that’s when Riker snapped, to Q’s delight: “Permission to get him off the ship, sir.”

“How? Denied, that’d be useless.”

Riker huffed and shifted his weight. “We should’ve never let him go down to the surface with us,” he snarled.

“Oh, please, Commander,” Q said, “you knew basically nothing about the ch’Utaurs, you needed assistance in making this trade agreement. And I happened to know about this planet what you didn’t.”

“Pity you didn’t know about their marriages!” Riker barked, but Q just frowned. It had been a mistake, yes, an honest to God mistake. He and Jean-Luc had happened to stand next to each other, wearing the same clothes (the red space pajamas that Starfleet called uniforms) while drinking from the same ritual jug.

“Do you accept our people’s _fragH’char_?” the guy in white had asked. “It would be our honor.”

As he didn’t care for honor, Q had just shrugged, and then he had urged Picard to react in any other way just for the sheer sake _of politeness_. Considering nothing really bad could possibly happen by agreeing, the Captain had thus said, “Yes, very well.” And then their hands had been joined and there was lots of cheering and chanting, and it was then when Q had understood what was happening. This was real, it was happening.

Jean-Luc had looked at him plainly, he had blinked twice. He had not understood the gravitas of the situation until much later.

They were married now, and the marriages of Utaur Alpha had to be consummated immediately and before witnesses of the High Council. They had twenty-one hours left, or both would be criminals according to Utaur law. Plus that nifty trade agreement the Federation had planned would most definitely fall through.

Q did not see the problem though, because the solution to it was fairly simple: He and Jean-Luc would have some alien sex and that was that. Granted, it would be in front of a few ch’Utaurs, and Jean-Luc being a prude wasn’t exactly a surprise. Q was looking forward to it. Having public sex was better than whatever awaited Q back in the Continuum if he screwed up with yet another mortal species.

“Where is the problem, Jean-Luc?” he asked innocently. “If it’s the consummation of our marriage, rest assured, I am the most tender lover.”

“We are not married!” Picard called, for the fourth time today.

“Oh, we most certainly are,” Q smiled. The thought alone was intoxicating – Jean-Luc Picard, his husband! His _sweetie-pie_. Q argued, “Just because it is not your culture does not make it less valid. Marriage is marriage. Or are you humans really this backwards in your beliefs?”

“This is not about racism,” Riker said, but Q shut him up with a gesture of refusal. “We can have it annulled afterwards, Jean-Luc, if it’s the thought of commitment that’s frightening you. Surely Starfleet offers legal assistance in such matters. There have to be Federation forms against accidental marriages,” he mused.

“There are,” was the answer, and unsurprisingly it was Riker who knew about them.

“You are correct, sir,” android Data said. “I believe Q is talking about form A136-e, accidental marriages in non-Federation cultures, given that they allow divorces.”

“136? Such a high number indicates that it doesn’t happen all too often,” Q said, bored, and leaned back against the sofa with a hand holding his head. His eyes were still fixated Picard. He was so… awfully tense. Q would’ve felt sorry for him if it wasn’t his own soul that was at hazard here. If his siblings in the Continuum –

Jean-Luc exhaled shakily, unwilling to meet Q’s eyes. “I don’t know about the number of accidental… marriages of Federation citizens,” he said.

“Sixty-eight in the past ten years, sir.”

“Dismissed, Mr. Data,” Picard called, probably because it felt like good old Data wasn’t on his side in that moment. But then he ordered his loyal Riker to leave as well, leaving only him and Q in the room. Alone, at least.

Once the doors swished close, Q began with a quiet, “Jean-Luc…” but was cut off immediately: “You will do something about this. Undo it, now!”

Q pressed his lips together. Normally, he could’ve done just that, after some nagging at least, but he wasn’t in the best situation himself, with the Continuum holding a metaphorical shotgun to his chest. That was the reason he had joined the Enterprise in the first place; bothering Picard was always a welcome distraction from his problems. Q had found comfort in the man’s company. Indeed, he was the closest thing Q had to a friend.

“I can’t,” was all he said, but Picard didn’t buy it. He tse’d and started pacing the room. Q’s eyes followed him. “I can’t,” he repeated in honesty, louder this time.

Picard shook his head in disbelieve. “You will turn back time and prevent this from happening,” he said in that icy Captain tone of his.

“I’m sorry, are you having hearing difficulties?” Q snapped. “I can’t! I can’t intervene with another alien culture. Sometime in the future, maybe, but that future is not in the next twenty-one hours, which is the timeframe, in case you have forgotten, we have to return to the surface and consummate the marriage. Surprising that a non-linear being has to remind you of that.”

Picard had stopped to listen to him. “We are not married,” was all he said.

“We are,” Q replied. Good gracious, this was already a true marital fight.

“We are not married,” Picard argued, “because Utaur Alpha is not a recognised member of the Federation, thus the marriage is not legally binding.”

There it was. Stupid human arrogance. Q knew it was probably just another reason for Picard to hide his fear, but nonetheless he breathed in deeply and sprung from the sofa, because his fear was valid as well, wasn’t it? “The Continuum doesn’t care about Federation Space!” he spat, giving the last two words a nasty emphasis.

Jean-Luc blinked, taken aback by the closeness, which was ridiculous, because being close had never estranged him before –

“You’re in trouble,” he realized.

Q pressed his lips together. “Bingo, mon capitaine,” he whispered slowly and turned around. “What have you done this time?” he heard Picard ask, knowing the amused tone was supposed to wind him up, and it did just that.

“Oh, don’t rebuke me,” Q mewled.

“Why not?” Jean-Luc inquired, rightfully so, to Q’s shame. “You have maneuvered us into this, and you will get us out. The trade agreement is on the line.”

“You were the one who said yes! And the trade agreement, wow,” Q exclaimed and threw his hands into the air in a gesture of frustration. Say about human bodies what you want, they were great for conveying emotions, especially those of annoyance. But however high the advantages, he would never become one of –

“You will get us out,” Picard repeated. “I don’t care about the consequences this will have for you.”

“Oh, you don’t mean that,” Q said and turned around to face him. “The Jean-Luc Picard I know would never disregard a life like that.”

“I recall you priding yourself – over and over – upon the fact that you are immortal, so it’s hardly your life that’s on the line. I find it most irreverent of you to use that as an argument,” Picard said with stern eyes directly fixated on Q. To understand, Q would have to tell him the whole truth – that the Continuum would turn him mortal again if he were to mess with time and space in this criminal manner yet again. All it took was the final straw to break the camel’s back.

No. No, he had to think of something else to persuade Picard. Where could he pick up again?

The consummation, maybe? Humans were always quick to assign human standards to other humanoid species; the actual procedure might be wildly different than what Picard was imagining when he pictured himself and Q ‘having sex’. How did human sex work anyway?

Who cares. Q did his best to loosen up. Stepping closer, he put on a smile and said, “You know what, Jean-Luc, my sweet, little, human husband” – Picard visibly cringed at that – “I hypothesize that neither one of us knows what public sex looks like on Utaur Alpha. Am I right?”

Picard’s eyes fled, and he swallowed as he looked down.

“Thought so,” Q smiled. He stepped back a few inches. “Give me a second – literally, a second – and I will check up on it.”

“And then what?” Jean-Luc asked.

“And then we will have some more facts to work with,” Q said. “I am more than willing to cooperate, you know, to spare you from any dread.”

“If you leave now-” Jean-Luc began, and Q involuntarily sighed. “You were correct when you said that ‘we’ are in this together,” he said, “and both of us are screwed if this goes wrong. So, will you whine about how not-married we are, or will you start looking for a solution?”

He wanted to wait for Jean-Luc to give any sign of agreement ere leaving, and he wasn’t disappointed: “You’re right, we should rationalize the situation,” the human said and nodded to the ground, if still tensing.

Q snapped (just for effect, of course) and left, and as soon as he was out of that ship, he breathed in deeply. One second for Picard could be hours for him, if he just moved fast enough. Hours to breathe and relax and acclimate.

He flew through time, a few days back, to witness a ch’Utaur wedding and watched. He spent significantly more time with choosing an outfit in which to return to Jean-Luc, something domestic maybe, but when he browsed his vast collections, he paused for a moment to think.

He _wanted_ to be married to that man. He liked the idea of being bonded like this to something that wasn’t Q, especially because he didn’t exactly know what that meant. Shouldn’t he be appalled by the image of being together with a human? A mortal? Wasn’t this against his better judgement?

Then so be it, Q shrugged and continued browsing.

To humans, the ch’Utaur mating should be innocent enough, because humans don’t have reproductive organs on their foreheads. They would go through with it in time, and then Q’s ass was saved, as was the trade agreement, as was Jean-Luc’s pride.

Maybe then he wouldn’t even want to annul the marriage afterwards.

But one thought kept stinging Q’s consciousness, it drilled and twisted, and it _hurt_. It was a curious sensation, scary almost.

It was the thought of losing Jean-Luc as a friend.

Q sighed at the Vulcan ceremonial robe in front of him. He should probably just return in that red uniform, he did not want to dress up anymore. The thought of Jean-Luc getting even more annoyed and hostile was too dreadful.

And so, he returned to the ship, in the chair in front of Jean-Luc’s desk, which made the human flinch. Q apologized by clearing his throat.

“That was longer than a second,” Picard said coldly.

“It’s hard to find a wedding on that planet,” Q lied with narrowed eyes. “Anyway, mon capitaine, my findings will undoubtably delight you. I have seen what the High Council will witness when we consummate our marriage.”

“If.”

Q paused to stare. This human was impossible. “Anyway,” he continued his speech, “what is highly sexual to the ch’Utaurs and serves their reproducing offspring, is, to humans, nothing more than some tender forehead touching, which, _last time I checked_ , was not even remotely considered sexualized in any human culture.”

Jean-Luc blinked. “Forehead touching?”

“Yeah, don’t you remember?” Q asked casually. “Those slimy things on their foreheads, those are the-”

“Yes, I understand,” Jean-Luc interrupted.

“Good,” Q beamed. “Then you’ll also understand that your puny human pride could hardly be affected by this. Just a little snuggling and both of us will be fine.”

Jean-Luc swallowed and turned away. “It’s still a marriage,” he said.

“What?” Q asked, popping up right in front of him. “First you insist it’s no marriage, and now it suddenly is? Make up your mind!”

“I have!” Jean-Luc barked. “I will not do it!”

“Then you will be a criminal,” Q sang with widened eyes. “A criminal, yes, and the one responsible for the bursting of your little trade agreement. Starfleet will not like that, let alone the fact that you broke alien law. What about that rule you treasure so much, hm, the Prime Directive? Follow it.”

“I am not marrying you, Q,” Picard said with finality, and it made Q’s shoulders slope down because he finally realized what was going on: Picard was honestly against this. Not only against the whole situation, but against the idea of being bonded to Q. Not only was he disinclined, no, he seemed downright nauseated by the idea.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Q asked in desperation. He’ll be dead. Made mortal and then murdered by one of the many enemies he had made during the last five billion years, which could easily be prevented by Picard just playing along, even if he truly despised Q, because all it would take was some damn forehead touch. All could _so easily_ be prevented.

“That’s my final answer,” Picard all but snarled.

“Bite the bullet, you stupid worm!” Q jangled, stomping his feet like a child.

“I won’t!” Picard called back just as loudly, and that was when Q decided to flee, this time for real. When he would come back next time, he needed constructive ideas. Methods to make Jean-Luc agree. That man had a heart, so how hard could it be? Q was hopeful.

He first returned when Picard had a tea to calm down: “Any riches in the world, dear friend, any cultural artifacts from the farthest regions of the galaxy.” – “No.”

Then after the crew had had an emergency meeting in the observation lounge: “I can turn into a female, as you see, so you might want to have a bite? Maybe?” – “No!”

Chocolates, roses, nothing was enough to persuade this man, and it was _frustrating_. “Why don’t you just make me agree?” Jean-Luc asked icily when Q had appeared on the bridge, party hat hanging down sadly.

He would never make Picard do something without his consent, or erase memories or something like that. Those were just other versions of illusions, as Data had taught him, and in his current position, the Continuum would come after Q for it, surely.

Which was also the reason why he couldn’t erase the High Council’s memories, but apparently no one on this ship was listening to him: “I told you, I can’t do it!”

“Then get off my ship!”

Q looked around. They couldn’t be serious. Were a single man’s feelings really that much more important than being an adulterer, failing Starfleet and protecting an innocent being’s life? (Well, maybe not that innocent, but that was beside the point.)

Maybe Jean-Luc was under some kind of influence. How else could he throw away a life like that? That wasn’t like him. But Q had checked, no outer danger threatened Jean-Luc. Then maybe he wanted to achieve something, something that Q had not yet thought about giving him. Something cruel.

Sometime later, when they had only one hour left to consummate the marriage, Q appeared in Jean-Luc’s dark quarters. No crazy outfit, no flamboyant gestures, just a man sitting on a bed watching another man brood over Starfleet protocols, trying to prevent damage.

“When will you finally understand that it’s not going to happen?” Picard asked without looking up.

Q swallowed. “Maybe my offers have not been… generous enough,” he said softly, making Picard sigh.

His next words were hard, but if they were truly necessary to stop his foreign fear of dying, then so be it.

“Maybe,” Q said cautiously, folding his hands, “you will comply if I promise you to leave you afterwards, leave you… forever.”

Now Picard did look up. Even in the dark, Q’s human eyes could see how tired he was.

“I understand you want a divorce anyway,” Q continued as casually as possible, “so that would be a fitting extra, wouldn’t it? No more unwanted visits, no more unexpectedly barging in. Just you, making your way through space with your crew, without ever seeing me again. All you’d have to do is you come down to the surface with me and go through a little touching. Nothing more. No more visits afterwards, I give you my word.”

Picard looked at him for several moments, eyes moving as though to consider the offer. Q’s mouth twitched in bitter irony. It had done the trick, he was on his hook. Even if it meant never having pleasant conversations or any banter with him ever again, it would save Q’s metaphorical skin. And maybe they would even be able to leave on good terms.

Like friends.

But it wasn’t enough. “While that prospect does have its appeal,” Jean-Luc said slowly, “it would still involve me throwing away my values. Not to mention you’re a notorious liar. I will not partake, Q, whatever the offer.” With that, his glance dropped down onto the pad in his hands, and he continued reading, and blocked Q out completely.

“Values,” he repeated with disgust.

“You have maneuvered yourself into this situation all by yourself, Q,” Picard said absently. Gone was the ‘we’.

“You talk as though this has no bad consequences for you at all,” Q remarked, but Picard ignored him. His tiredness wound Q up to no end, but, scarily, he himself felt too powerless to throw a tantrum, so he just stayed on the bed and looked around in disbelieve. He felt alone, detached, the worst feeling there was for a Q. “What are your great human values if they get me killed?” he asked.

“You are immortal.”

“I’m not if they make me a mortal again,” Q argued, shuddering at the image. He had despised being non-eternal. Not only was it just plain inconvenient, it had also exposed his absolute worst traits to himself and to the universe. The human vessel reacted on its own; Q embraced himself and sunk deeper and deeper into the darkness of the room. It was so… poky.

“I am sure the Continuum would only turn you mortal if you deserved it,” Picard said coldly.

“That’s not the point, Jean-Luc,” Q called with desperation, searching for eyes to look into. “The point is that as soon as I’m mortal, I will die. Remember all the civilizations that want me dead?”

“Ask the Continuum to not turn you mortal then,” Picard said, uninterested.

“They won’t listen if I mess with yet another species, or time, or memories – there’s nothing I can do, I’m helpless!” Q cried – what a terrible thing to say. There was pressure building up behind his eyes, it hurt, it really did, but Picard still did not react. How could this man, this pinnacle of humanity and righteousness, the only one who ever cared even a little bit about Q, be so cold? Was Q’s fate all the same to him? The thought _stung_. _It hurt._

“Why do you resent so much? Why?” Q managed to blurt out, a disgusting little sound, and now Picard’s hand come down on the table in a weak fist. “Because marriage is something special,” he said and got up, to the bed. “To me, it is a sign of love and commitment. Ideally, it lasts until death. That’s not something I have with you,” he said without an ounce of strength left in his body.

Q felt equally powerless when he looked up at this human that he learned to like so much, the human at whose mercy he would die. His hands acted on their own, grasping the sheets in a gesture of nervousness. So, this was the end, wasn’t it?

“Am I not special to you?” he asked quietly, consumed by obscure fear. _Friends?_

Picard’s eyes fluttered. “No,” he said softly. “No. Not in that way. I’m sorry.” And then, “Go away, Q.”

Q felt his throat swallow down a knot as he eyed this stern face as though to keep it in his mind forever. Without another word, he left.

It felt like a real letdown, but Picard had been right in one way: Q had not talked to any of his siblings in the Continuum yet. It was the very last straw, but it was also a very real straw. Maybe the world was upside down and the Q would show more compassion than Jean-Luc Picard.

His premature hopes were crushed quickly.

‘Please,’ he begged, ‘I’m asking for this one favor. There’s only a few minutes left.’

‘You already think in linear time structures,’ said his sister. ‘You belong with them, don’t you? Then say, have you chosen a human as your mortal form?’ She sounded bored. ‘How can you continue like this? This goes against everything the Continuum stands for. Will you stay on that ship? Needing food and physical touches? Come on, Q, you know better. A Q should know better.’

Q blinked. ‘But I care for him. I want to stay. I can’t help it,’ he said, broken.

‘You know that we can take that from you, if it’s a burden.’

‘No! No, don’t even think of it!’

‘Then accept your fate.’

Q desperately tried to change her mind, their mind, they were many after all. ‘I will be killed,’ he said a third time, shaking. ‘I am scared.’

‘Really?’ his sister asked, intrigued. ‘How does that feel?’

‘Awful!’ Q cried. ‘It feels awful! Dreadful!’

‘Then maybe you should punish that mortal for making you feel that way, as long as you still can,’ were her last words ere she left, and Q sighed in frustration and helplessness. He had no clue what to do. He was at his endless wits’ end. As his essence steadied, it sunk into other plains of the universe, and somewhere in a lilac nebula, it stopped and floated, silent, to once again befriend the idea of mortality.

A few thousand years should be enough to sit the terror out.

This universe was so vast. There were so many places to stir up, so many amazing creatures to explore, meet, annoy and test. So many possibilities. And now it all came to an end, and he would not have seen even half of what there was to see. He was robbed of every opportunity he ever had.

Dooming Picard for betraying him had, at first, been more than tempting. With energy, concentrated and ready to blow. There was something primal and freeing about violent phantasies, and in some timeline, Q would’ve probably given a lot to be able to thrash Picard, his stupid bald scalp and his human arrogance.

But Q found that he could not do it. The thought of revenge, of hurting his Jean-Luc appalled him. Even the thought of hurting his feelings. Which was ridiculous, because with only a concentrated thought, Q could have crashed his whole ship, swallow everything down to be never seen again, that’s how powerful and ruthless the Q could be when angered. Nothing more than a human crushing a fly.

He couldn’t. He’d rather die himself. And then he wondered if this was what love felt like. He felt horror at the image of having this love taken from him by the Continuum. Although the thought of becoming mortal scared him, he found he was now ready to endure it, if it meant that Jean-Luc would be fine. He could change the time continuum, make everything unhappen, just as Jean-Luc had wished right from the start, and then face his mortality in the certainty that he and his ship would be fine. And happy.

Maybe then Jean-Luc would even remember Q as a friend.

Warmth consumed him, calmed him despite the unreasonable undertaking he was planning. Nine Earth minutes were left. Enough to tell Jean-Luc about his plan – he should tell him, shouldn’t he? Otherwise Picard wouldn't know it had happened. With nine minutes left, what else was Q supposed to do? Keep brooding somewhere in space as a nebula?

“I don’t think so,” Q said aloud, so eager to materialize that he hadn’t even noticed he was already in Picard’s quarters, wearing bright red robes as he always did when he felt grant. Picard looked surprised and irritated. “You don’t think what?” he asked, sounding amused.

Why was he amused?

Q frowned. “How good for you to be so relaxed,” he said but found he could not keep a sarcastic façade. He softened, swallowing. “Jean-Luc-”

“Q, I-”

“No, you first.” – “Go ahead.”

Both groaned. “Stop it,” Q said with a finger raised in front of Picard’s smiling face. “I,” he began cautiously, “have made I decision. I will go back in time and make the marriage ritual unhappen. As if it never took place. You and your away team will arrive there without me and arrange that nifty little trade agreement of yours without any interference from me.” He made a blocking gesture and looked down. “When you put your signature under the document, I will already be off and away. No catch, no loopholes. Just my… last offer to you.”

There, he said it, into the silence. Still seven minutes left.

Q waited in a devout position, arms spread, blinking at the carpeted floor and trying to think of a snarky way to make Picard say something, but he gave up quickly. He did not want to be snarky but soft. The warmth was still in his chest.

“Oh, right,” he remembered with a sad smile, “you wanted to say something, too.”

There was a sigh. “Yes, um, sorry. I needed to process that first,” said Picard, and Q looked up. There was his Jean-Luc, smiling wearily with a hand supporting his chin. They stared at each other like that for a while ere Picard tensed up, clapped his hands and said, “I thank you for giving me this offer, but I must decline. Now, come one, let us get going. Time is short.”

“Go where?” Q asked. Puzzle pieces slowly came together in his cosmos mind, but he did not want to believe them yet.

“To Utaur Alpha. My Chief of Transport has the coordinates to the main chamber of the High Council.”

Q felt indignant. “Have you not listened to me? I was close to pouring out my poor heart to you just now, like I had just an hour ago,” he said, scandalized that Jean-Luc would think of using the transporter when he had a Q with him.

“I have,” said Picard and stepped closer to hesitantly lay both his hands onto Q’s arms, squeezing gently. “And I am very grateful for it, I really am. Considering it means that you would have been…” He tried to smile. “I have never thought you to be so selfless.”

“Selfless?” Q asked. Was that what it meant?

Picard lowered his hands. “Let’s save you first,” he said.

Q frowned, leaning forward. “Are you really willing to go through with the marriage?” he asked, searching brown human eyes for evidence of… well, what, exactly? An explanation, maybe?

“I am,” Jean-Luc said. “I understand if you’re angry with me, and I apologize for having been chastened so late in the game.”

‘Chastened’ by an Admiral, probably. The Prime Directive. “Better late than never.”

“I’m not asking for forgiveness though.”

“I need time to think about that,” Q said truthfully. Wait, he ‘needed time’?

“I will wait.”

“Good.”

With that, they stood in a giant stone chamber with a high ceiling – if there was a ceiling at all, golden rays of light fell through it to the ground. It looked more like a cave. Q stood opposite of Jean-Luc, both in uniform, bathing in that light and staring at each other for a few moments ere caring to turn to the noisy ch’Utaurs surrounding them. Flower petals laid at their feet.

“My crew is in safety?” Jean-Luc asked quietly, barely above a whisper. He was as tense as ever, and the stiffness was infatuating, so Q just nodded. Together, they faced the ch’Utaurs, petals rustling between beneath their steps.

“You are late,” the high priest growled.

“We have been delayed. I apologize,” Jean-Luc said in his best Starfleet voice, and Q felt a little bit proud of him for using ‘we’, which probably showed on his face in the form of a twitchy smile.

The priest was unimpressed, of course he was, that boor.

“As outworlders, are you familiar with the _ughpi_ , the mating ritual?” he asked.

Jean-Luc side-eyed Q as if to look for support, so Q straightened up and took that one with a casual smile: “We know, yes – so, if you would be so kind, Your Eminence?”

The priest growled and turned left to bath his paws in a clear fluid from a stone bowl. Q felt his human body tensing even harder, to the point where he felt close to immovable. Every muscle was strained, and his little human heart was _racing_.

Why? Because Jean-Luc had chosen this over his pride? He had done it to save that trade agreement, Q thought when the priest coated both their naked foreheads with the fluid. It smelled nice, like flowers from the jungles of Uidan.

Human expediency was a great resource, he remembered, and he is not loved. But at least he found comfort in both the prospect that he would not die and in the experience of being unable to hold a grudge against Jean-Luc. He wasn’t angry with the human. Disappointed, yes, but his sadness felt contained and almost bittersweet.

“Now take each other by the hands.”

They did. Jean-Luc’s hands felt nice, but they, too, were tense. And rough. Q stroked a thumb over them to soothe him and take some of the stress, maybe also to communicate friendship. Thumb stroking was amazing. (It was absurd to think how many of the Continuum were irritated by human hands and their many nerve endings. Human hands were the least dreadful parts of their bodies. Oh, he should stop already with the distracting thoughts!)

Q squeezed gently, making Jean-Luc’s eyes shot up to gaze into his, widened, and the priest’s voice was faraway when he said, “Do not talk. _Zukma_. You may now begin the _ughpi_ to consummate your marriage in front of the High Council.”

Jean-Luc nodded and exhaled, cupping Q’s cheeks with both hands, and Q mirrored his action a few moments later. Then Jean-Luc brought his head in with awful slowness, but Q had not forgotten how nervous the man was to perform this act of intimacy. He remembered how Jean-Luc had backed away shortly after the marriage ritual, how anxious he had been to even be near Q. He was shivering.

But Q wanted to make this experience a nice one for him, something to make him remember their friendship. ‘Do not talk’, what a nonsensical rule, Q thought, and sent an intercosmic wave of reassurance to Jean-Luc.

_It’s going to be fine. You are going to be fine, mon chou._

Warm, soft, steady, if a bit slippy due to the fluid – Q smiled as their foreheads touched, eyes closed. He had to bend down a little, because Jean-Luc was shorter than him, but there was nothing to complain about. In fact, every touch was perfect. And close, so close that their noses brushed. Soft cheeks beneath his hands which could feel every bit of blood rushing through the human bodies as they touched. There was no grant cosmic experience to compare it to, because this was so very small, unimportant and irrelevant in the great holistic scheme of the universe that one could quickly dismiss it.

But those really missed out on it. Q indulged in it. The sweet flowers’ scent crept into his nose, mixing with Jean-Luc’s very own odor, and his human nose scrunched at the smell. Jean-Luc’s hands shifted, Q felt him swallow. He decided to put his hands on top of Jean-Luc’s to ease him into moving his head. He was still stiff.

_Feel only me. Ignore those stupid aliens._

Jean-Luc breathed sharply, and it sounded like a stifled chuckle, much to Q’s enjoyment – that choice of words was wondrous for a normally bodyless species, and he was glad it was met with approval.

Their fingers brushed and stroked, and then Jean-Luc nudged Q’s head in a playful gesture that made his nose press against Q’s. Q mirrored it. Then he pressed his own head firmer against the bald scalp and brought up a hand to cup the back of Jean-Luc’s head, and to his fascination, Jean-Luc leaned into the touch, sighing in what sounded like bliss.

Q gasped.

Jean-Luc moved the fingers of his right hand to intertwine firmly with those of Q’s left hand, squeezing gently, connecting, and Q could hear the ch’Utaurs begin mumbling and chanting ancient spells.

_They just don’t know what to make of my halo, don’t worry._

Q tilted his head slightly so that more of his light surrounded Jean-Luc. Although his human eyes were closed, he could see, sparks, nerve connections – but he really wished he wouldn’t. The darkness humans saw when they closed their eyes intensified the touching experience immensely, so he’d rather have that. Have it with the man he loved.

Breathing heavily, he nudged Jean-Luc’s head with tenderness, laying all his emotions into the touch, and it made a rough sigh fall from the human’s lips, mixing into the breath Q felt on his face, and it was so soothing. His sister had been right, he thought: This was where he belonged. This little moment of love in linear time, even if it was just duty to Jean-Luc. To Q, it wasn’t.

They continued their touching for a little longer, until the low sound of a gong signaled the end of the ritual.

“ _Dagh_. The marriage is now consummated and approved of by the High Council.”

Without letting go of each other’s hands, they parted. “Oh, right, there were people here,” Q joked quietly as he smiled at Jean-Luc opening his eyes. Brown eyes, warm eyes, reflecting golden light. Drops of the clear fluid glistened on his nose. “You do have a halo,” he breathed with fascination.

Q shrugged. “Only when I get excited,” he smiled. Jean-Luc’s experience had been a good one, that was all that counted. Q squeezed his hands. “I forgive you,” he said, “of course I do.”

They really didn’t give a damn about the aliens watching. While Q was already getting ready to leave all of this behind in his box of treasured memories, Jean-Luc grabbed his face again and pulled him in – or did he stand up on his toes? Q couldn’t tell, because he was caught in the kiss that their soft lips formed when they touched.

He didn’t mean to melt, he really didn’t. But the sudden softness, the gentle movements, the smacking of their lips – it was all too much. Q had melted into the core of the universe, and he had taken his human with him.

This was a kiss.

Why? Disturbing the experience of his first one, ‘What has a kiss to do with Starfleet’ was Q’s last coherent thought before he dissolved.

Silent, they floated through the stars, far away, where the red robes surrounded Jean-Luc’s small frame and deep currents shed their energy onto them. They multiplied with Q’s halo, and he couldn’t stop his essence from leaking because he was so, so confused.

Then, however, he saw Jean-Luc’s brown eyes, human eyes that were overwhelmed with this plain of the universe. Their unfamiliar overload made Q focus his thoughts. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘The marriage was for the Federation’s sake, was it not? Why the kiss? Just for show? I have never known you to be such an actor.’

Jean-Luc opened his mouth to speak, but only managed to let out a gasp. The flower fluid on his cheeks had mixed with salt water. And he shook his head slowly, lips parted.

‘What do you mean?’

‘For you,’ Jean-Luc breathed.

‘Oh,’ said Q. _Oh!_

Now overwhelmed himself, he rushed to hug his human. He understood. His halo did before him, it glowed happily – Loved by a human. By _him_! What bliss! Q sighed shakily and smiled at his Jean-Luc, so small in this vast corner of the universe. He could not take his eyes off him, energy consumed them, glowing. There were a million things to say, but safety first: ‘Let us return. This is no place for you.’

‘Wait…!’

Q halted, still holding Jean-Luc close as he searched for words. ‘Q, I… I need to say that…’ His voice trailed off.

Smiling, Q shook his head. ‘You can tell me later,’ he shushed, hugging Jean-Luc gently with all his essence, bathing in warmth. He felt it, and he also felt arms wrapping around him, and a head leaning against his as they re-materialized. They were on their knees, panting, coming back to that cave. Q propped himself up with his hands, flower petals brushing his human hands. He looked at Jean-Luc who struggled to get up as well. Q grinned.

“Q,” Jean-Luc blurted out. He looked sick. Their eyes met, and his mouth opened and closed a few times, but Q waited patiently.

He was not disappointed: “Q, I… thank you. I really do.”

“So do I!” Q beamed with an unsteady breath. “You, I mean, not me.”

Jean-Luc nodded with a sigh and was close to collapsing, so Q hurried over to him, grabbed him, helped him to stand up straight. Eyes always linked.

When they were fully back, their position seemed unchanged. They were in the High Council’s stone chambers, the warm cave, with flowers still beneath their feet. Q playfully kicked one away. The high priest had some words to say about solemnity and appropriate mindsets that were necessary for such a sacred tradition. Q and Jean-Luc would joke about it later on, even though Jean-Luc was hesitant to let his Starfleet persona down. Whatever.

“Maybe we should’ve told His Eminence that it’s going to get annulled anyway,” Q said with a grin and made an old-fashioned scroll appear out of thin air. Its contents were Starfleet form A136-e.

But Jean-Luc put down his teacup in a thoughtful gesture. “Actually, I, um…” He straightened up to look directly at Q from the other side of the table. “I thought I might submit that at a… later point in time,” he said.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous-”

“I’m serious. Q.”

Q stopped chewing his biscuit to stare into Jean-Luc’s earnest face. It was earnest, it was, but the man did his best to smile. He nervously fumbled with his hands, saying, “Of course you’re free to disagree. But, um…”

“Disagree?” Q repeated, spilling cookie crumbles as he gestured in exaggeration. “What are you saying, Jean-Luc?” Banners with red roses printed onto them enrolled on the ready room’s walls and confetti sprung from nothing.

“Not only do I get to keep my life, no, I’ll get to spend it with my spouse! Husbands! Husbandry! With the one and only Jean-Luc Picard! Eureka!”

Jean-Luc frowned at the display. “You know what, I changed my mind,” he said, and Q paused, making everything disappear (including the scroll). He stared at his Jean-Luc with wide eyes and watched him sip his tea, which was a rather relaxing sight. Not much had changed. In fact, most of their company was the same as before this incident. Against his fear, Q had not lost a friend, he had only won a feeling.

“Good thing you look so handsome when you’re at peace, it’s the only thing making me spare you,” he purred.

Jean-Luc hummed, and Q observed him thoroughly. “How come you changed your mind?” he dared to ask.

Jean-Luc paused and put the cup down again. “Due to the realisation that the reason I had been so unfair to you was… that I was afraid. You were right from the beginning,” he said.

“How nice of you to deconstruct your fear,” said Q, granting himself this little bit of sarcasm.

“I know it’s probably not a patch to being afraid of becoming mortal and instantly getting murdered,” Jean-Luc admitted with a nod. “I’m sorry.”

But Q declined. “ _That_ fear was there, yes, yes, but…” He fumbled with the cup in his hands. There were tiny floral ornaments on it. “I was more afraid of losing a friend, actually. And I have learned to accept the feelings of others. It taught me a lot. Apology accepted.” He paused and frowned. “What _were_ you afraid of?”

Jean-Luc avoided his eyes.

“Come on, tell me. You just said, ‘it’s not a patch to being afraid of becoming mortal and instantly getting murdered’, so, what pity human dread had consumed you, the dauntless Captain of the Federation’s flagship?”

“Love,” Jean-Luc interrupted the spate of words.

“Love?” Q repeated with risen eyebrows. “My love for you has scared you? I mean, understandable, but…”

“No,” Jean-Luc growled and added, barely above a whisper, “Mine did.”

Q’s eyes widened. “Oh.” A pause. “Since when?”

Sniffing, Jean-Luc smiled and said, “To quote a great Earth author: ‘Will you tell me how long you have loved him?’” He looked down. “’It has been coming on so gradually that I hardly know when it began’.”

Jean-Luc did not elaborate, and Q did not ask. Two souls from opposite ends of the wide, vast universe, finding each other like this, in the feeling of love – There was overwhelmed silence between them until Q cautiously asked, “Won’t we take… a wedding photo?” (He had read up on human marriage traditions.)

“A photograph? Dear Lord, no.”

“A honeymoon then, perhaps?” Q’s voice got higher with each word. He was skilled in tempting mortals, but Jean-Luc just stared at him deadpan. “I also wondered,” Q continued unchanged, “if we would’ve had a regular marriage, there would’ve been a proposal – and I’d like to think of myself that I would’ve proposed to you. The question is how? With a massive party? At a romantic beach? With the ring hidden in a glass of sparkling champagne? Oh, and speaking of the ring-”

The clinking of Jean-Luc’s teacup sounded mildly angry when he repeated, “I said I’ll think about the divorce.”

“Oh, good, it’s only the first day after all,” said Q and grinned at him like a madman. It was then when Jean-Luc’s communicator beeped.

“Yes, go ahead, Commander.”

“It’s a wedding present from the ch’Utaurs, just transported from the surface. A… robe, sir. A dress.”

Q’s eyes widened as Jean-Luc massaged his head in horror. “Calling dibs, that one’s mine,” Q said and snapped his fingers, bumbling. A new outfit matched to these new feelings! A genuine wedding dress! The cosmos was floated with dream scenarios involving it, half of which Jean-Luc should probably not see. Yet. Maybe Q should wait until they had rectified their overdue marriage proposal. What did that mean anyway? Q was more than eager to explore it, this concept of bonding. And this warm feeling of love. Perhaps he was more on the ritualized side of the phenomenon, whilst Jean-Luc would be responsible for teaching him the emotional aspects of it.

He remembered this thought when they stood at the shore in a sunset’s warming light:

“Will you, Jean-Luc Picard, marry me? Please, mon Capitaine?” Q was on one knee, begging, but most importantly of all, the look in his eyes should tell Jean-Luc about the gravitas of the situation.

“We _are_ married,” was the reply.

“Come on,” Q said and lowered the small box that displayed the ring, “play along, will you? There’s no post-marriage proposal I can reference, at least not in human cultures, so be kind with me, all right? Just say yes.”

Jean-Luc’s lips twitched with a warm smile. “I already have,” he said.

Q frowned. “But that was back when we did not know we were just getting married by a creepy alien priest,” he protested.

“You’re probably right,” Jean-Luc sighed, and his voice was all soft against the gentle rushing of the sea. “Maybe then I should be the one asking the question, so that you may answer. Get out of the sand,” he said, and Q closed the box and took the hand that was held out for him, only to realize yet again that no, nothing much had changed. Perhaps, if Q was lucky, now there would be another one of Jean-Luc’s great speeches, or another human kiss, but Q somehow felt there would be no overwhelming, all-consuming, all-overshadowing gravitas. Just love. That was a different thing, with Jean-Luc at least. And it was theirs, it had been all along, and no one could take it from them.

They did eventually get divorced, but even that did not change much. It certainly did not stop Q from appearing on the ship in the wedding dress, or stealing kisses, or Jean-Luc from reciting romantic literature, needless to say.

**Author's Note:**

> [insert monochrome photo with a wide grinning Q, wearing a white frill dress, and a very tired looking Picard]
> 
> God, these two are such fun to write!! I like this fic more than my first attempt at them, I think I’m getting better. I also hope ST: Picard will show they’re married in like thirteen different cultures or so lol.
> 
> Thank you for reading ♡


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